


Three Lifetimes

by w1ster1a



Category: Original Work, Werewolf: The Apocalypse
Genre: Dark Ages, Gen, Get of Fenris, Trans Character, a lot of kennings for odin cuz i can, deadname, norse culture if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 10:00:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10942176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/w1ster1a/pseuds/w1ster1a
Summary: Backstory for a character, Dark Ages setting, Fenris Theurge.lets do this





	Three Lifetimes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the gm that will never read it](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=the+gm+that+will+never+read+it).



 

Hrafn was born a small kid under the Spring Moon, the local Seidkonas predicting that he would be a great fighter against the Ragnarök. A destiny fitting for the son of Bardr, one of the village's greatest warriors.

Hrafn Bardrson did not grow as tall as the other kids, nor as strong. He was tiny, and scrawny, and maybe sat too much on his mother's lap. But the Seidkonas's words still rang true on his father's ears and so he was trained in the way of the warrior. It lasted little.

On a crisp day of Autumn, his father was struck down by a wolf, defending his son from the creature. _A vicious creature,_ the chieftain said _, a powerful creature, a spawn of Fenrirsulfr himself. 'Twas a glorious death,_ the skalds sang, _Bardr will feast in the halls of Valhalla and drink besides One-eye himself, and he will fight again when the time comes. Bardr will wait his warrior-son on the beak of the carrion birds he was named after,_ the people whispered _, for his son will be a great fighter one day._  


But that day would never come for Hrafn, for the wolf that took his father also took his vision. The scars would heal, but Hrafn would never again lay eyes on the blue sky, or see the face of any children he might father. He would never see the shining gates of Valhalla, were he to die a warrior's death. The village folk doubted the Seidkonas's prophecy, but did so in hushed whispers, for to doubt a Seidkona was to doubt the Gods themselves.

The seasons passed, and Hrafn Bardrson grew soft like spring wood. He spent more time in the healer's tent than he did his own, and learned his way through the herbs and the poultries and, one day, learned the ways of Seidr himself.

The whispers, who had died out in the Winter as much many things die out in Winter, began anew, for the son of Great Bardr, wolf-warrior and kin-saviour, was now not only blind, but also an argr, an effeminate. Hrafn, who for many moons had felt the name did not fit well, cared little for such whispers.

He cared about the health of his mother, though, whose health had been decaying since his father's passing. He learned the way of the healer for her, and it had worked. But now, with the pressure of the village folk and a baby on the way, her condition was only getting worse.

So one night, with the moon full in the sky, Hrafn ran. Hrafn ran, and left his village, his mum, his wyrd and his name all behind.

* * *

No-Eyes had become accustomed to long walks in the woods around the village, for when one could not fight or plant or many other things, one got bored around the day. Truth be told, No-Eyes had only walked through the woods when the sun was still high in the sky, but it had been a while since No-Eyes could tell the difference.

The woods stood much quieter during the night, so it was all much easier for No-Eyes to listen when someone followed. Now, hearing is a tricky thing, for you can never be so sure what or who you are hearing. Had No-Eyes not been blind for years now, No-Eyes would never notice when two steps became four.

No-Eyes could hear the growl then, low and rumbling like the steps of an army, and it was not long before No-Eyes gathered the courage Hrafn never had, and spoke.

"Who are you? Why you follow me?"

The growling did not stop, it became louder, a predator's growl, a wolf's howl. The sound sent chills rolling across No-Eyes's spine, and yet the words spoken were clear as day.

"I am but a simple traveller..." The Wolf said, baring teeth in a would-be smile. Or so No-Eyes thought. "What does a blind man do alone in a wolf's den?"

"I am no man." No-Eyes spoke and got surprised at the truth in those words.

"Oh, and what are you, then?" The growls were getting closer now, the shifting of snow by paws and louder by the word.

"I... I am a Seidkona." Truth came out again. "I am No-Eyes, a Seidkona from a village dusk-ward."

"And how does one who cannot see understand which way is the dusk?"

"How does a wolf understand the language of man?"

The Wolf laughed, and No-Eyes could sense his warm breath close.

"You are a curious creature, No-Eyes from dusk-ward. You are yet to answer my question."

No-Eyes thought about it. No-Eyes felt the moments pass through the rhythm of the Wolf's breath. "I did not know there was a wolf's den here."

"You should, your father learned the hard way." The mirth in those words did nothing to stop the churn of No-Eyes's stomach. "Even the youngest tree would've told you of the dangers here."

"I do not know the language of trees." No-Eyes said, calmer than one should be when facing a talking wolf.

"Would you care to learn?"

"Would you care to teach?"

"And why would I do that?" The wolf growled, prancing around, and No-Eyes felt as small as Hrafn once was. "You are foolish enough to walk into a wolf's den, you couldn't be smart enough to learn the spirit-talk." The footsteps went quiet. "Give me one reason I should teach you."

The wolf was close now, close enough for No-Eyes to feel his breath near the ear. It tickled. No-Eyes laughed, dissolving the tension.

"I need not convince you- you're already teaching me." No-Eyes turned to the wolf. "Might as well teach me spirit-talk, as you call it, you're already halfway there."

The wolf huffed and turned away from No-Eyes, who for a moment feared having gone too far. "Follow me, pup." The wolf said, and No-Eyes did.

For a moment, the forest became quiet again. No-Eyes heard four become two, and the wind got stronger than possible among trees. "I thought we were already in your den, wolf"

"I said we were in a wolf's den." Spoke the wolf, his voice more human now. "Never said it was _my_ den, you assumed." The steps stopped. "Do you trust me?" His voice seemed far away.

Strangely, No-Eyes did, and told him as much.

"Then _run_." The wolf howled, a guttural sound like No-Eyes had only heard once, the day Bardr died. And No-Eyes felt small, and No-Eyes felt scared, and No-Eyes could hear the not-wolf-not-man jumping closer, every bit the Fenrir-spawn the wolf that killed No-Eyes's father was.

And No-Eyes ran.

No-Eyes ran as fast as Hrafn had ran, and then faster. No-Eyes ran so fast no rational thought could follow, only instinct. No-Eyes ran and ran, until two legs could handle no more, and so No-Eyes ran on four legs.

No-Eyes ran until everything was behind- the Wolf, Hrafn, No-Eyes and all that came together with that.

And the forest came alive, and the spirits spoke. Static danced upon skin, no- fur, as if Thorr himself was calling forth a storm. Sounds, touch, _everything_ exploded, and everything got so louder and so much that it made one slow down. And the Wolf caught up.

And so they fought like no human ever fought. They fought with fangs and claws and with such rage that would make the bravest warriors from the little dusk-ward village wet themselves. They fought with pure instinct, and even though one could not see, one could still smell and taste the copper of blood upon one's muzzle.  
And when the fighting was done, when the wolf laid down and surrendered, one was born anew.

* * *

The village folk were not wrong when they said Hrafn Bardrson would never become a warrior. Hrafn Bardrson died the day he ran away from that dusk-ward village.  
In his place, now stood Rún Manidottir, Seidkona and Theurge of the Fenris.

No, the irony of that statement _did not_ escape her.

The Fenris were like her village, as they were like any other Norse village. They only accepted her as she were among their ranks when she survived her test- hanged from a tree, bleeding from a shallow wound, like Hangi himself. And if it was a joke on her being an argr, or being blind, she never asked.

But she endured, and she gained their acceptance. But Rún had enough acceptance to last three lifetimes, so she took a blazing hot dagger and carved the spirit rune on her face, sacrificing her eye to the spirits much like Hoarr sacrificed his to knowledge. Her eye was much more useless, but the symbolism was not lost on her brethren, and so she gained their respect, at least in her sept.

She was called Spirit-Eye, and she learned the way of spirits, and the way of wolf, and the way of men all over again. Rún learned the way of wolf-men, and in secret she too found friends in the carrion birds that appeared after a battle.

Rún never left the old faith, for she felt Grimnir had guided her steps ever since her father felled in battle. She joked that her mentor, the Wolf, also known as Agnar Tricks-The-Wyrd, was an avatar of the god himself.

"It was by no chance I took your eye in that fight, old man." She would comment one day when they'd be resting by a fire.

"Well, 'twas one for two, nothing more fair."

"So it _was_ you."

"Wouldn't you like to know, pup." He would say, his voice grave like the familiar, once-frightening growl. "Wouldn't you like to know."

**Author's Note:**

> if u got this far i love you bc not even my GM read the whole thing
> 
> he made me write a TL;DR


End file.
